Isadora sunk her head onto Quin's shoulder and let herself be held in his firm arms, blissfully drowning out the world in her own happiness. She was with Quin again, and he was alright, and Rudolph was alive - although she tried not to think much of Rudolph - and Quin loved her, and Quin had kissed her and she was in love with him, in love with the world.
But then she was ripped from her bliss by a rough hand that tore her from Quin's arms and threw her onto a horse. Jumping up behind her, the royal guard spurred the horse on, toward the cold and forbidding palace where all emotion was drained and restrained to subtle glances and tilts of a fan, away from Quin, away from love.
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